"It'll take you a while to do that, won't it?" said Bullard, sneering to cover his perplexity.
"No doubt, mister."
"And so you are above money! How beautiful! Going to pay me back that one hundred pounds you got from me the other day, I suppose!"
"Haven't got it now, mister. Fifteen bob and coppers in me pocket—that's all."
"Crazy gambler! How do you imagine you are going to get out of this country without my help?"
"Goin' to stay and face any music that likes to play. That"—said Flitch, still quietly—"is what I'm going to do, mister."
Bullard took to fiddling with the nugget on his chain. "Well," he said, "as it happens, I haven't got many hundreds just now to throw about, but I expect you'll change your mind when the first tune begins to play—only I warn you, it may be too late then. That's all! Now, what about your prisoner? How did you leave him?"
Flitch hesitated before he said: "That's one o' things I'm goin' to tell ye about, mister …"
"Well, hurry up."
Flitch took a long breath and faced his patron, fairly and squarely.